Blackwater Street stood out among its neighbours, its cobblestones freshly swept and its buildings gleaming with polished brass and spotless windows.

“This has to be it.” Soren gestured towards a structure at the street’s end, its façade adorned with intricate carvings. He pointed to the sign. “Finch & Associates: Fine Auctions and Acquisitions.”

“Aqua?” Alaric frowned. “What does that have to do with auctions?”

“Focus. We’re here to scout.”

They moved around the building, noting the thick curtains drawn tight over the windows and the heavy locks securing the side entrances.

Each step sharpened Soren’s awareness, his eyes scanning for vulnerabilities.

At the back, he stopped, his attention drawn to a narrow alley cutting behind the auction house.

He studied its depth and the shadows it provided. “That might work.”

Alaric shrugged. “Let’s get a look inside first.”

Plush carpets muffled Soren’s footsteps when he entered, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and leather.

A stern-faced woman sat behind a mahogany desk, eyeing Soren as he approached. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Soren stepped forward. “We’re here to see Mr. Finch. It’s regarding the upcoming auction.”

The woman’s eyebrow arched. “Mr. Finch’s auctions are private affairs.”

“Of course. We already have an invitation. I’m simply interested in reviewing the listings.”

The receptionist studied them for a long moment before rising. “One moment, please.”

As she disappeared into a back room, Alaric leaned close to Soren. “What are you playing at? We don’t have an invitation.”

Soren shushed him as the woman returned, a leather-bound catalogue in her hands. “Here you are, sir. The full listing begins on the third page.”

Soren accepted the catalogue with a nod and began leafing through. His eyes darted across the lines of text and woodcut illustrations, his heart racing as he took in the array of rare and valuable items.

‘Lot 12: Alabaster carving of a dog, believed to have belonged to Emperor Dietmar III of Ostreich. Intricate carvings depict scenes from the Unification Wars. Reserve price: 3,000 krones.’

He turned the page, his fingers tracing the detailed sketches.

‘Lot 23: Clockwork wyvern automaton, crafted by the legendary artificer Elias Grimm. Sings seven distinct melodies. Reserve price: 2,500 krones.’

‘Lot 31: First edition of ‘The Wanderer’s Chronicle,’ signed by the author. One of only three known copies to survive the Great Library Fire. Reserve price: 4,000 krones.’

He turned the page and stopped.

‘Lot 33: Ravenglass Orb, origin unknown. Believed to be of pre-Cataclysm manufacture. Perfectly spherical. Surface described as ‘darker than the deepest night.’ Reserve price: 5,000 krones.’

Soren fought to keep his expression neutral as he looked up at the receptionist. “I’m particularly interested in Lot 33. Can you tell me more about its properties?”

The woman’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid I don’t have any information beyond what’s listed in the catalogue, sir.”

Soren nodded, closing the book with a snap. “I see. Well, thank you for your time.”

As they exited the auction house, Soren’s mind raced with possibilities. “Did you see that? An entire orb of ravenglass. That’s got to be more than enough for what we need.”

Alaric’s brow furrowed. “And how exactly do you plan on getting it? In case you forgot, we don’t actually have an invitation. Or 5,000 krones.”

“We’re not allowed to purchase it anyway.”

“I suppose.”

“We come back tonight. Scout the place properly. I bet they keep the auction items on-site before a sale.”

“Maybe we should—”

“Oi!”

A group of men stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alley, their faces hard.

At their centre stood the boy from earlier, his finger aimed straight at them. “That’s them! The ones who hit me!”

The largest man rolled his shoulders, his knuckles cracking. “You picked the wrong kid to mess with. This is our street.”

Soren’s hand slid to the dagger at his hip. He gripped the hilt, weighing their options.

There were too many.

A fight would end badly.

Alaric stepped forward, his voice steady. “You really don’t want to be messing with us.”

“Is that so?”

“We’re with the Guild.”

The men froze. The leader’s brow furrowed as his eyes swept over them. “Which guild?”

Alaric held his gaze, unflinching. “You know which one.”

The air thickened, the silence dragging between them.

The leader shifted. He took a half-step back, his head dipping slightly. “Didn’t realise. No problem here, yeah? No harm done, lads.”

A few muttered agreements passed through the group.

One by one, they melted into the alley, their presence dissolving as quickly as it had emerged.

Soren waited until the street cleared, then nodded toward Alaric.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

They moved quickly, putting Blackwater Street behind them.

Alaric grinned as they rounded a corner. “Did you see their faces? They were scared out of their skins.”

Soren shook his head. “We shouldn’t mention the Guild to anyone. Ever. Do you have any idea how much trouble we could be in?”

Alaric’s smile faded. “I wasn’t thinking. It just came out.”

“This isn’t a game.”

Alaric sniffed. “Whatever.”

"We need to learn more about this place." Soren's boots struck cobbles as they walked, his mind already planning.

Soren’s fingers traced the yellowed edges of a blueprint, his brow furrowed. Beside him, Alaric leaned over the table, his eyes darting across the faded lines and notations.

“This is useless.” Alaric pushed away from the table with a sigh. “It’s over a century old. Who knows what changes they’ve made since then?”

Soren nodded. “It gives us a rough outline, at least. But you’re right, we need more recent information.”

They had been in the Vault for hours, poring over every scrap of information they could find about the auction house on Blackwater Street.

“We’re at a disadvantage compared to the museum job.” Soren rolled up the blueprint and reached for another tome. “At least there, we had a chance to scout the interior during the day.”

Alaric snorted. “Fat lot of good that did us. We still failed.”

“True, but we learned from it. This time, we need to be smarter. We need to go back tonight, do some real scouting.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you propose we do that? The place will be locked up tight.”

“We’ll find a way in. Maybe through that alley we saw. If we’re lucky, we might even find the ravenglass orb.”

“And if we’re not lucky? If we get caught?”

Soren opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat as a familiar figure appeared at the end of the aisle.

Raz moved towards them with fluid grace. “How goes the search?”

Soren straightened. “We’ve made some progress. We went around the antiques district and found a lead on a ravenglass orb at an upcoming auction.”

Raz pushed out his bottom lip. “Interesting. And how do you plan to acquire this orb?”

“We’re still working on the details. But we have some ideas.”

Raz nodded, his gaze moving between the two initiates.

His hand shot out, grabbing Alaric by the collar, and slamming him against the nearest bookshelf.

“What the—” Alaric’s protest was cut short as Raz leaned in close.

“If you ever speak of the Guild in public again, you die. Do you understand me?”

Alaric’s eyes widened. “I…I didn’t…”

“Don’t lie to me. You mentioned the Guild to those street thugs. That kind of carelessness gets people killed.”

Raz released his grip and Alaric slumped against the bookshelf, his face pale and shaken.

“Let this be your only warning. There are no second chances in our line of work.” He turned and stalked away, leaving Soren and Alaric alone in the Vault.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Alaric remained where Raz had left him, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Alaric, I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“Don’t,” Alaric cut him off, his voice hoarse. “Just…don’t.” He pushed himself away from the bookshelf, straightening his clothes with trembling hands. “We should get back to work. We still need to figure out how we’re going to get that orb.”

Soren nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “Right. Of course.”

The night’s chill wrapped around Soren as he moved through Welttor’s shadowed streets, each step blending into the quiet hum of the city at rest.

Finch’s auction house rose ahead, its silhouette stark against the faint glow of distant lanterns.

Soren slipped into the cover of a nearby wall, flattening himself against the rough stone as a city watchman passed.

The lantern’s glow swept over the cobblestones, chasing shadows before the street sank back into darkness.

“Now.” Soren darted across the open space to the auction house’s side alley. Alaric followed close behind, his footsteps silent.

Soren crouched in the narrow passage, the brick walls pressing in on either side as he surveyed the building. He moved towards the side door.

“Keep watch.” Soren fished his lockpicks from a hidden pocket in his tunic.

Alaric nodded, his eyes scanning the street as Soren set to work on the lock.

The mechanism was more complex than the one at the museum, each tumbler a puzzle unto itself.

Sweat beaded on Soren’s brow as he worked, acutely aware of how exposed they were.

A soft click broke the silence.

Soren’s breath caught in his throat as he tested the handle.

“We’re in.”

He ushered Alaric inside before closing the door behind them.

Soren blinked, willing his eyes to adjust as he took in their surroundings.

“Which way?” Alaric’s voice was barely audible.

Soren hesitated, recalling the layout they’d studied. “Upstairs. There’s a vault in the basement, but the auction items might be stored off the bidding room.”

Soren crept towards the staircase, every creak of the floorboards making him wince.

His elbow brushed against a display stand, sending a tremor through the delicate tea set perched atop it.

He led the way up the stairs, testing each step before committing his weight.

Reaching the top step, Soren paused. “You take the left wing, I’ll go right. Meet back here in fifteen minutes.”

Alaric nodded, melting into the shadows.

Soren watched him go before turning to his own task.

He slipped from door to door, his lockpicks making short work of the simple tumblers. But each room yielded nothing but stacks of paperwork and mundane items waiting to be catalogued.

As he emerged from yet another fruitless search, a faint glimmer caught Soren’s eye.

He froze, his gaze fixed on a door at the end of the hall.

Unlike the others, this one boasted a heavy padlock.

Soren’s pulse quickened as he approached.

This had to be it.

His fingers trembled as he set to work on the lock, more complex than any he’d encountered so far.

Minutes ticked by as Soren wrestled with the mechanism.

A satisfying click echoed through the hallway.

The padlock fell open in his hand.

Holding his breath, Soren eased the door open.

The room beyond stood pitch black, the air thick with the musty scent of age and disuse.

Broken furniture, mouldering books, dust-covered paintings—nothing but forgotten junk.

No ravenglass orb.

Just another dead end.

Soren slumped against the doorframe. They’d risked so much for this, and for what? A room full of worthless crap?

A floorboard creaked behind him.

Soren whirled, his hand flying to the dagger at his hip.

But it was only Alaric.

“Anything?”

Alaric shook his head. “Not a trace. You?”

“Same.” Soren gestured to the cluttered room behind him. “Just more junk.”

From somewhere below, came the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

Soren grabbed Alaric’s arm, pulling him into the junk room and easing the door shut behind them.

He crouched in the darkness, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps grew louder.

A slice of light appeared under the door.

Darkness.

The footsteps continued on, fading into nothing.

Soren let out a shaky breath.

Alaric rose to his feet. “We need to get out of here.”

Soren nodded, though a part of him rebelled at the idea of leaving empty-handed.

But Alaric was right—they’d pushed their luck far enough for one night.

Soren crept back through the auction house, every shadow now seeming to conceal a lurking guard.

The stairs creaked underfoot as he and Alaric descended, each sound amplified in the stillness.

At last, he reached the side door and eased it open, peering out into the alley.

The street beyond lay deserted, shrouded in the faint glow of gas lamps.

“Coast is clear.”

Alaric followed, pulling the door shut behind him.

Soren melted into the shadows, moving swiftly and silently through Welttor’s winding streets.

Only when they were several streets away did Soren allow himself to relax.

“Well.” Alaric kicked a loose stone. “That was a waste of time.”

Soren shook his head. “We can figure out another way, I’m sure.”

“What about Grey’s offer? It might be our best shot.”

Soren’s brow furrowed. “It’s too risky. Even if we could scrape together that kind of money, there’s no guarantee it would get us what we need. He gave us no reason to trust him.”

Alaric sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So what, then? We just give up?”

“Of course not. We find another way in.” He turned onto a wider street, his mind racing. “What if we don’t need an invitation at all? What if we could talk our way in?”

Alaric sniffed. “Talk our way in? To a high-security auction full of Welttor’s elite? Are you mad?”

“All we need to do is look the part, act confident, and have a believable story.”

“And you think you can pull that off, huh?”

“I know I can.”

Alaric shook his head. “It’s too risky. If we get caught…”

“We were taking a bigger risk breaking in. At least this way, we have a chance of walking out with what we came for.”

“I don’t like it, Sor. It’s too dangerous. Too many things could go wrong.”

Soren stopped, turning to face Alaric. “Then I’ll go alone.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you don’t have the stones for it, I’ll do it myself. I’m not giving up on this. It’s too important.”

For a long moment, they stood there, staring each other down. Soren could see the conflict in Alaric’s eyes.

At last, Alaric’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. We stick together. But for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”

Soren clapped him on the shoulder. “Noted. Now come on. We should get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ve got work to do.”